


Terms of the Agreement

by vivalataire



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Christmas, Christmas AU, Christmas Fluff, Eventual Smut, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Swearing, and yes this is a Christmas fic, i'll add tags as the fic continues, so keep an eye out for changes!, yes its july
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivalataire/pseuds/vivalataire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I bet I can make you love Christmas in ten days.” Grantaire paused for dramatic effect, his mouth spreading into a wide grin. “Give me ten days to convince you that Christmas magic exists."</p>
<p>"Deal."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Ten Days of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided I want something happy. And everyone loves a good Christmas fic.   
> Yes it is July. No I do not care.

“You’re staying here for the holidays, too?”

“I am.”

“What are Courfeyrac and Combeferre doing?” Grantaire asked, shifting his weight between his feet anxiously. He was lingering after a meeting, the rest of Les Amis having cleared out, talking excitedly about their holiday plans.

“Courf said something about a  _ Christmas Sexcapade _ in South France.” Enjolras rolled his eyes, although the soft turn of his lips suggested a fondness for his two best friends. He was cleaning up his papers, having been strewn about in a bit of a mess across his end of the long table in the Musain.

“Oh. Ew.” 

“Aren’t you spending it with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta?” Enjolras finally looked up from the table, his eyes landing on Grantaire’s where he stood, idling near the door.

“No, they’re going to spend it with Chetta’s family.” 

“Eponine?”

“She finally saved up enough to take Azelma and Gav away for the week. Family Christmas.” R paused for a moment, a bit thrown by the unusual ease of the conversation. “What is Feuilly doing?”

“He’s going with Bahorel on that hiking trip in the Luberon Mountains. Provence.”

“Oh shit, yeah, I forgot about that.”

There was a long quiet moment, not an awkward silence, but heavy with something hard to place. 

“Jehan?” Grantaire asked, eyebrows raised.

“They told us to not expect them to come out of their ‘love cocoon’ in Toulouse with Montparnasse til New Years.” That tease of a smile was there again, Enjolras’ eyes falling to where his hands rested on a large binder on the table.

“Oh. Ew.” Grantaire repeated. “And I know Marius and Cosette are going out to the country to visit her father.” Enjolras smiled at that, a huff of a laugh pulling from his chest.

“Poor Marius.”

“Poor Marius.” Grantaire agreed, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. This was nice. It wasn’t often they could talk amiably. It was possible, and happened in instances, but tended to come few and far between. Even now, something hung between them; an expectation of sorts. They were both waiting for the wrong word to be spoken, and the tension to spiral.

“So what are  _ you _ doing for Christmas?” Grantaire asked, unwilling to let this conversation fail, as so many have before.

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing?” Grantaire snorted, and Enjolras steadied him with a long look before standing from the table.

“I mean nothing.”

“You’re not doing anything?” There was another long silence, Enjolras’ lips pursing in disapproval.  _ “Wait- oh my god.” _ R huffed a laugh, his eyes crinkling happily. “ _ Tell me _ you’re not a Scrooge.”

“I don’t know what  _ a Scrooge _ is.”

“Oh my  _ god _ . A Christmas Carol? The most common Christmas story there is?”

“I’ve never read Christmas stories.” Enjolras’ jaw was tight, his eyes avoiding Grantaire’s pointedly. “I’m not really a Christmas person.”

_ “You hate Christmas. _ Holy shit.” Grantaire, who was ruled by the upcoming holidays, owning every Ugly Sweater that Jehan had ever made, couldn’t begin to process the idea of someone hating the holidays.

“It’s not that unfathomable. Christmas is disgusting.” The sneer was clear in his voice, and Grantaire could tell by the curl of Enjolras’ lips that he had hit a sore spot. So much for keeping the peace. “It’s purely a capitalist holiday. Shrouded in false religious phenomena that is upheld by so many hypocritical Christians, furthering their ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude towards anyone who is not one of them. Not that that includes all Christians, but there is a vast majority of them who are unfortunately exactly like that.” Enjolras was on a tirade, and all Grantaire could do was watch and admire. No one loves the light like the blind man. “Not to mention the false sense of community that spurs during the holidays. Sure, it’s great that people are charitable, but the sheer fact that it’s solely restricted to Christmas is so despicable. It’s like people use the less fortunate as a way to feel better about themselves. They donate and give money to charities, sure. But only once a year. Who gives a shit about the homeless and unfortunate the other eleven months of the year, _ right? _ As long as they donate a toy on Christmas, their slate is wiped clear.” Enjolras spat, body rigid.

Grantaire let out a low whistle, pulling himself from his reverie.

“That is quite a chip on your shoulder.” He was still reeling from the aftereffects of Enjolras’ intensity, but he wasn’t about to let it derail him from this subject. Nobody hates Christmas.  _ Not on his watch.  _ Enjolras didn’t respond, it seemed his rant had tired him, as unlikely as that was. 

Grantaire thought for a long moment, watching Enjolras gather the rest of his things and swing his messenger bag over his shoulder. He straightened up, looking at Grantaire expectantly.

“What are you planning?” Enjolras asked, voice exhausted, already preparing for whatever it was Grantaire was about to plot.

“I have a proposition for you.”

It was an impasse; the two sides of Enjolras’ personality at war within himself. His eyes narrowed as he considered. On one hand, he was competitive and curious. On the other, Enjolras was extremely wary of Grantaire’s schemes. It was a stalemate.

“What is your proposition?”

“I bet I can make you love Christmas in ten days.” Grantaire paused for dramatic effect, his mouth spreading into a wide grin. “Give me ten days to convince you that Christmas magic exists. If you win, I’ll shut up at meetings and be first to volunteer for every second shift at a rally for the next month.” 

Enjolras considered this. He was strong in his convictions, always had been. But if anyone were able to sway him, it would be Grantaire. Even _ he _ could admit that.

“Deal.”

“I never said what I’d get if I won.” Grantaire offered, quirking his head to the side as he leaned against the doorframe of the Musain. 

“You don’t have to- I’ll win.”

“Deal.”


	2. All I Want For Christmas Is For Enjolras To Not Be A Pissbaby: Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re mocking me.” Enjolras deadpanned, taking a step back. Grantaire’s face fell from it’s cheeky smile, and he reached out a hand for a moment, almost touching Enjolras’ arm, but not quite. 
> 
> “No, I’m not. I just-” He trailed off for a moment, before allowing himself to smile again. Misunderstandings were always present when two personalities like their existed together. R was used to navigating them; some times better than others. “I have a plan, okay? A ten-step program.” He chuckled. “This is only part one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long omg. I'm gonna try to get as much of this written and posted before my trip to NYC next week!!!!!!!!

“Grantaire, it’s cold.”

“Why yes, it  _ is _ December.”

It  _ was _ cold. Their friends had all departed that morning, teary eyed and loud, consequently setting Grantaire’s plan into action.  _ Mission: Get Enjolras To Fall In Love With Christmas  _ was a go.

“Grantaire, what exactly are we looking for?” Enjolras sighed heavily, his voice leaning dangerously close to a whine. R tried and failed not to enjoy the sound of his name in Enjolras’ mouth.

“It’s gotta be wide on the bottom, but still able to fit in the tree stand. It has to fit in the corner of my flat’s living room. The branches have to be strong enough to hold up Feuilly’s pickle ornament collection, and I have to be able to cut it down with  _ this.”  _ Grantaire listed off, holding up a medium-length bow saw.

They were strolling down the long rows of trees, hands wrapped around cups of peppermint hot chocolate (at Grantaire’s insistence), and looking for the Perfect Tree. Nostalgia was apparent for Grantaire; he hadn’t been tree shopping without his best friend in years. But, if he didn’t listen too hard, Enjolras’ whining sounded a bit like Eponine’s careful indifference. The repeated brushing of Enjolras’ arm against Grantaire’s was distracting enough, anyway.

“And you’ve done this before?” Enjolras asked, eyeing the saw skeptically. 

“Every year.” Grantaire responded flippantly, his pace picking up as he turned the corner, coming across a tree. It was fairly short; enough to easily fit in his apartment, and sturdy enough to withstand the intense decorating it was fated to. “This is it.” Grantaire smiled, turning back to face Enjolras.

It really wasn’t fair. Enjolras’ cheeks were flushed, somehow making his strong jaw seem soft and warm, and little bits of snow were caught in the golden mess of curls. Enjolras’ eyes were glassy against the wind, and his lips were a little chapped. He was beautiful, and Grantaire didn’t really know how he’d make it through the next ten days. The way the color of his lips stood out against the pale, almost translucent color of his skin… Grantaire wanted for  _ something _ ; a canvas, a pencil or even a camera. Anything to capture the moment.

“It looks no different than the others.” Enjolras said, his eyes rolling after inspecting the tree in question. 

“Oh come on, don’t give me that. If we’re going to do this, you have to actually  _ try _ and enjoy yourself.” Grantaire sighed, his head tilting. It was hard to look away from Enjolras. “I know you’re miserable here with me, but it isn’t all bad.” 

_ “No _ it’s not that-” Enjolras cut himself off, biting his bottom lip. “It’s just cold is all.” He shrugged. “The hot chocolate is good and the scenery is nice.” Enjolras spoke through gritted teeth, eyes on the rim of his cup.

“How can you make something so pleasant sound so miserable?” Grantaire asked, his tone light and a crooked smile tugging at his lips. 

“How can you make something so miserable sound so pleasant?” Enjolras countered, eyes flickering up to meet Grantaire’s.

It really  _ was _ odd- to have been together for longer than an hour and not go beyond simple bickering. They both were well aware they would have to spend ten or more days together alone, and they were making a conscious effort to keep the peace. It seemed,  _ so far _ , if they just tried a little harder, and chose their words a bit more carefully, they could get along.

“Well, miserable or not, I think we’ve found the perfect tree.” Grantaire decided, nodding his head. Not as perfect as the one Courfeyrac had found two years ago, but still pretty damn perfect. “Hold my cup.” Grantaire said, holding out his near-empty drink to a reluctant Enjolras. 

Grantaire took off his gloves, setting them in the snow as he picked a low point on the tree to begin sawing. He knelt, dropping to his knees in one swift movement, and then shivered, grumbling only a little. Making a mental ‘X’ where the blade would begin, he started sawing away at the center of it. 

After a moment, R felt Enjolras’ eyes on him, and he tightened his grip around the handle of the saw, trying to set his mind on the job at hand and not the job he _ wished _ was at hand.  R paused for a moment, pushing the blade in deeper, before continuing his movements. Though his shoulders had begun to tighten, becoming tired already, Grantaire was used to the feeling- cutting down the tree was his job every year. You’d _ think _ that Bahorel would do volunteer to do it, but every year Bahorel had an elaborate Christmas manicure done by Cosette- and he was hell bent on not ruining it. So, the job always fell to Grantaire. 

He was sawing away for a few minutes before sweat began to gather on his brow and he looked up to see Enjolras frowning at him. “What?”

“That doesn’t look easy.” Enjolras observed, lips pursed. Grantaire paused for a moment, unwrapping the green scarf from around his neck and shrugging his dark coat off into the snow. He had on a long sleeved thermal shirt, and it stuck to his torso with sweat. “Grantaire, you’re going to freeze.”

“Dude, you do this for ten minutes. You’d be sweating too, Princess.” Grantaire teased, grinning through the hair that had fallen around his face. 

Enjolras grumbled for a moment under his breath; something about monarchs, before taking a moment to watch Grantaire saw at the tree. The soft gray of the shirt contrasted nicely with the tan color of his skin, and the tightness of the sleeves curled around his arms well. It was different, seeing Grantaire like this; sweaty and huffing, bent over on his knees and-  _ oh fuck.  _ Enjolras turned away, glad for the length of his peacoat. _ Well shit. _

This was always a problem. Enjolras would be minding his own business and Grantaire would walk into the Musain with paint smeared on his neck, or bent over chalk murals on the ground, hips swaying in the air to whatever music Eponine put on. It wasn’t fair. Enjolras took a long moment to appreciate R’s grip around the handle of the saw, his knuckles white with effort. He watching the way a drop of sweat skated down the hollow of Grantaire’s neck despite the freezing temperatures. Enjolras  _ would  _ offer to help if he thought he could bend down and be on R’s level and resist the urge to pin him to the ground. Enjolras tightened his hold on his coat, shifting between his feet nervously. 

“Hey, I’m gonna need you to hold the tree when it starts to fall.” Grantaire said after a minute, eyeing the angle of the tree. Enjolras welcomed the interruption of his thoughts and moved to wrap his hands around the trunk of the tree, supporting it. Surely enough, the tree gave way, and Grantaire grinned in excitement, dropping the saw to the ground. 

“How do we lift it?” Enjolras asked, watching Grantaire shrug his overclothes back on, a bit sad to see his body be covered. But he was glad R was warm, and all. 

“You don’t-  _ wow.”  _ Grantaire huffed a surprised laugh, tugging his gloves back on. “You don’t carry it, you drag it.” He watched Enjolras’ face for a long moment, eyes searching. Enjolras almost flushed under the scrutiny. “You’ve never done anything like this.” 

“I told you, I’m not a Christmas person.” Enjolras said, his eyes falling to the tree, avoiding Grantaire’s gaze.

“Yeah, but holiday grumpo doesn’t mean no Christmas experience whatsoever.” Enjolras grumbled at the  _ ‘grumpo’ _ but didn’t say anything in response. “I mean- next you’re going to say you’ve never been ice skating.”

There was a long silence. Too long to be anything but a clear answer.

_ “Oh my god, you’ve never been ice skating.” _

 

* * *

 

“So… Why pickles?” Enjolras asked, his curiosity eventually getting the best of him. They had somehow managed to get the tree up the stairs and into Grantaire’s small apartment, which was littered with tree decorating supplies- Marius and Courfeyrac having brought over every ornament they owned, as well as Feuilly’s large pickle collection. Grantaire was sweaty and gross after sawing and doing most of the heavy lifting, and had clear intentions to shower; Enjolras here or not.

“It’s a German tradition-” Grantaire shrugged, not really sure. “-I mean, I’m sure Feuilly is Polish but I think it’s something he and Bahorel started? I’m honestly not sure.” He walked over to the corner covered in pickles and sighed. “My Christmases have been littered with pickles for years, it’d be a bit odd if they weren’t here. I never really thought to ask the origin.”

Once again, Enjolras was struck with the feeling of having been left out. He knew logically that it was his own fault, and that he had no desire to experience Christmas the way his friends did. But, he did know he’d missed out on a lot of interesting memories. And it stung; fault or no fault.

“Do you mind if I shower?” Grantaire asked, eyes avoiding Enjolras’. “You’re welcome to whatever you want. Mi casa es su casa, and all that.” 

“Yeah, go ahead. I have more than enough pickles to keep me occupied.” Enjolras responded. Grantaire’s head bounced up, more surprised than anything at Enjolras’ attempt of a joke. It was nice to hear- that they were both consciously trying to lighten the tension that naturally fell between them.

“Okay. Don’t break any; Feuilly will have your ass” Grantaire warned, heading down the hallway towards the bathroom, and leaving Enjolras alone in his living room.

Enjolras had been to Grantaire and Eponine’s apartment before, though only twice. And both times, there were so many people packed into the small flat, he didn’t really have the chance to look at it, much less stay very long. But here he was, standing awkwardly in R’s living room- the entire apartment quiet save for the sound of water in the bathroom. It was small for two people, the only things in the living room being a futon, an easel, a coffee table and well, a bare Christmas tree.

It took a moment to process all of the big things before Enjolras could move to noticing the smaller ones- the details that show who _ really  _ lives there. The rings from glasses on the small table, the growing pile of Stephen King novels on one side of the futon. There was a mess of artwork scattered around the corner that had the easel, as well as an East facing window, Enjolras noted. He listened for a moment, noting the shower had not turned off before making his way to the corner.

The easel had a half finished painting on it- and Enjolras took a long moment to figure out what it could be. The canvas was covered in a dark blue background, a soft light emitting from the middle of the painting. It was obviously unfinished, and Enjolras stood back for a few moments, trying to see where the painting was going. It was interesting- trying to guess what Grantaire was thinking. He was one of the few people Enjolras found incredibly difficult to read. 

That was where Grantaire found him, a few minutes later; eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed as he looked at the easel. 

“It’s not finished.” He spoke, voice cutting through the quiet of the apartment. Grantaire’s cheeks were bright pink, whether from the shower steam or embarrassment, Enjolras wasn’t sure. He started, surprised by the voice.

“Oh I’m-” Enjolras stepped quickly away from the easel. “-I didn’t mean to intrude, I was just curious.” 

“It’s fine- it’s not a secret.” Grantaire shrugged, and Enjolras noticed that his curls were wet, hanging around his neck. R wore a pair of jeans and a soft looking sweater that looked vaguely familiar.

“Is that-” He thought for a moment, eyes burning holes into the sweater. “Is that Combeferre’s sweater?”

Grantaire smiled, and Enjolras’ chest felt constricted for some reason. He couldn’t name why- but he felt a tad sick. “Yeah. I kept stealing it from Courf at Christmas two years ago.” Grantaire’s hands moved to fiddle with the bottom of the sweater. “Ferre gave it to me that New Years.”

“Oh. Yeah, I thought I recognized it.” Enjolras said lamely, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. They stood in silence, once again painfully aware of the uncomfortable tension that always hung between them. It wasn’t always bad, like everyone thought. It was an intense energy, that could easily be turned into something negative with the wrong words. Enjolras was trying very hard not to say the wrong words.

“Grab a pickle.” R broke the silence, a nervous smile playing at his lips. “I’ll put some music on.” 

 

* * *

“No, no _ , no.”  _ Grantaire groaned, pointing at the tree in annoyance. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“How am I doing it wrong?! You hang pieces of plastic on a  _ tree.” _

“No! That’s not-  _ oh _ my god.” R reached out a hand, showing him exactly where the small ball that said ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ on it with a picture of a very annoyed Eponine belonged. “There’s a technique to it, okay?” He hung it, curling the end of the branch around the wire so it wouldn’t slide off. “If you’re going to participate in Christmas, you have to actually  _ try.” _

“Oh my god,  _ R _ , there’s nothing to it. You’re literally just picking a random branch and putting the shiny thing on it.” Enjolras chided, passing R the next ornament. Grantaire, in turn, tried not to falter over the sound of his nickname in Enjolras’ mouth; a rare but pleasant occurrence that always caught him off-guard.

“Actually, yes. Do  _ exactly that.  _ Just keep handing me ornaments, I’ll do the actual hanging.” Grantaire paused for a moment as he hung the next one. “Your grumbling is getting in the way.”

 

* * *

 

_ I really can’t stay; But baby it’s cold outside. I’ve got to go ‘way; But- _

“This has to be the most problematic song I’ve ever heard.” Enjolras said, leaning over a small box to pass Grantaire an ornament. It had Snoopy and Woodstock hugging, a small wallet-sized photo of Marius hanging below it. Their fingers brushed unnecessarily. “I mean- what is this? The  _ Blurred Lines _ of Christmas?”

Grantaire let a laugh bubble out of his chest, a smile decorating his face as he hung an ornament on the tree. “Yeah, but it’s catchy as hell.” He shrugged, turning back to take the next one from Enjolras; this one was an elf body with a cutout of a Courfeyrac’s face taped to the head.  _ “Gosh, your lips look delicious…”  _ Grantaire began to sing along, steadily ignoring the glare from Enjolras’ general direction.  _ “Waves upon a tropical shore…”  _

“Please stop.” Enjolras huffed, mouth curled into a frown. He tried his best to ignore the surprisingly pleasant sound of Grantaire’s voice- as well as the awful words emitting from it. “How are you even singing this?”

“It’s catchy.” R shrugged. “After twenty two years of it, you kind of start to ignore the words.” 

“I can see why you’d want to.”

“Okay, stop your whining; it’s time to light it.” Grantaire said as he hung the very last ornament. The star on top of the tree was a  _ mirror  _ in the shape of a star; after a long argument of whose face would be on the star, Jehan had suggested that the star be a mirror.  _ Everyone is a star, _ and all that. It sat a bit crooked every year, always leaning for some odd reason. Bahorel always bought the multicolored lights; they were warmer to look at and cast nice lighting for R’s photos.

“Hit the lights.” Grantaire ordered, pointing at the switch as he bent down next to the plug, holding the chord in his hands. It took a long moment before Enjolras sighed and followed the directions, plunging the apartment into darkness. There was an oddly intimate moment, their breathing the only sounds that filled the room, before Grantaire plugged the tree in, and he looked up.

The room was immediately filled with a warm glow; casting an orange and pink hue across Enjolras’ face. His skin looked warm- and the gold in his hair was reflecting the many colors of the lights. His eyes looked excited, at least, and his mouth had gone slack as he looked at the tree. Grantaire was struck with the ever-present feeling of fondness towards Enjolras; his chest filling with want.

“It’s beautiful.” Enjolras admitted after a few moments, eyes catching on his reflection in the star for a moment before continuing to look at the arrangement of ornaments.

“Yeah.” Grantaire managed, swallowing thickly. “Beautiful.” His eyes hadn’t left Enjolras.

 

* * *

 

“So how was this supposed to make me fall in love with Christmas?” Enjolras asked, lingering in the doorway of Grantaire’s apartment. They had a nice evening after the initial tree lighting, R refusing to turn the lights back on. He didn’t want to ruin the  _ ambiance.  _

“Oh, Apollo.” R sighed, leaning against the doorframe. His hand clutched a beer, hand wrapped tight around the neck of the bottle. When Enjolras left, he’d be alone in the apartment for the night; something he wasn’t looking forward to. He tried to make the moment last. “Decorating the tree is one of the most necessary and integral parts of the Christmas season. Not only is the end result satisfying, but the actual decorating, in itself, instills an important feeling of community.”

“You’re mocking me.” Enjolras deadpanned, taking a step back. Grantaire’s face fell from it’s cheeky smile, and he reached out a hand for a moment, almost touching Enjolras’ arm, but not quite. 

“No, I’m not. I just-” He trailed off for a moment, before allowing himself to smile again. Misunderstandings were always present when two personalities like their existed together. R was used to navigating them; some times better than others. “I have a plan, okay? A ten-step program.” He chuckled. “This is only part one.” 

Enjolras eyed him warily, but his lips curled into a soft smile for a moment. Their eyes met, and held for a long moment. Grantaire noticed a new fleck of green in Enjolras’ left eye he hadn’t seen before, and stored the knowledge away for alone time with his easel. “Part one. Right.” Something warmed in his chest, causing his stomach to flip, his throat drying. It wasn’t a feeling he got often; and never in anyone else’s presence. At first, in their relationship, Enjolras mistook it for anger. Now, though, he knew better.

“See you tomorrow?” Grantaire asked, a little unsure of the response he’d receive. 

“Tomorrow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!! Hope that was okay, guys. My URL is vivalar; come yell at me about this. Comments means motivation!! Let me know what you think  <3 I am WELL AWARE this is the cheesiest thing I have written. Literally ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Also they are in France but ??? does it snow at Christmas?? idk just go with it
> 
> let me know what you think!!


End file.
